The darkness comes again.
As it always does.
One day:
Will my dreams be filled with laughter?
Grow so tired,
Of fighting.
I’ve died so many times.
Killed my subconscious so many more,
In different guises.
A child.
Alone in dark rooms.
Weeping.
Weak as I was back then.
Lonely.
Lost.
Perhaps still am.
Weeping.
